


If a butterfly flapped its wings

by Tayani



Series: ShuAke Confidant Week [13]
Category: Persona 5
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dancing, Family, First Kiss, Goro Got Adopted By Muhen, M/M, Shuake Week 2020, jazz jin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-18
Updated: 2020-11-18
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:54:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27615166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tayani/pseuds/Tayani
Summary: Shuake Week 2020 Day 3 - Roles swap / Chocolate / ComfortAkechi Goro's life was a happy one.He went through a lot as a child, but that was long in the past. Now, he had a father, friends, family. Plus, there's a cute guy coming over to Jazz Jin whenever Goro's working. And, maybe tonight, Goro will finally have enough courage to talk to him.It's amazing how a single event of seemingly no consequence can change one's life.
Relationships: Akechi Goro/Amamiya Ren, Akechi Goro/Persona 5 Protagonist
Series: ShuAke Confidant Week [13]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1172450
Comments: 30
Kudos: 237





	If a butterfly flapped its wings

Goro opened the door and took off his shoes, throwing his university bag on the chair by the entrance.

The apartment was uncharacteristically quiet. His call of _I’m home_ received no reply. Humming some random melody, Goro washed his hands and snatched a sandwich from the plate in the kitchen, before walking to the door at the other end of the house and sticking his head outside, calling into the staircase leading down to the club.

“Dad, I’m home!”

There was a sound of a crash, rather like a man just fell off a ladder. Goro choked on his sandwich and ran downstairs.

“I’m fine, I’m fine...”

Jazz Jin was quite dark - it always was, but during the day it lacked even a part of the usual, dim lightning. Muhen was sitting in front of a ladder in the far end of the room, rubbing his back and with his hat knocked off his head.

Goro sighed in relief and shook his head, nearing the man and reaching out a hand to help him up.

“You sure? Sounded like some old man just fell on his ass,” he said and ducked with a grin when that remark made Muhen aim a smack at his head.

“Well, your old man did, but thankfully lost nothing but some dignity,” Muhen said, getting to his feet and ruffling Goro’s hair affectionately. The younger man felt his smile soften and moved to stand by the ladder, holding it securely in place as Muhen clambered up it yet again.

“What are you even doing? I’ve told you to wait for me, I’d have helped out before opening today.”

“Yeah, well, you know how it is. I had a free afternoon, thought I’d put up some posters before you came home,” Muhen shrugged, pulling up the poster he'd dropped before and starting to work on hanging it up the wall. “How was school?”

“Normal,” Goro shrugged. “Boring. University’s same as highschool, with the added bonus of less senseless homework.” He grinned. “We’ll have a group project starting next week, though. I’m in the same group as Niijima.”

Muhen whistled.

“Poor girl. Should I send flowers to that interfering sister of hers in advance of the funeral? After you make the girl have a stroke, I mean.”

“It’s not _me_ who makes it impossible to work in one group with her. She’s just bossy without any qualifications to actually be in the lead. Which is why _I_ was the Student Council President in high school, and she was Vice. You’d think she’d have taken something from that.”

Muhen laughed, finished putting up the poster and climbed down the ladder.

“You’re a menace, you know that?” he said fondly. Goro grinned at him and laughed when Muhen patted his back. “Come on, mister best student of the year. Let’s get you some dinner.”

They climbed back upstairs. As Muhen went into the kitchen, Goro grabbed his bag, carrying it to his room.

Despite the ten years Goro lived here already, he still felt a little pang of joy whenever he entered his room. It wasn’t big or fancy - four walls, a floor, a bed, some bookshelves, one carrying his whole collection of vinyl jazz records. A record player, a case with Goro’s beloved trumpet in it, some note sheets strewn about the place - not that he’d play in his room, the neighbours made him promise Goro would practice only down at the club, where walls were soundproofed. By the window there was a desk Goro left his bag at, with a shelf above it filled to the brim with Feathermen merch he’s collected through the years.

It was _his_ room. Every single thing in it, from the dark wood of the furniture to the colour of his sheets, Muhen let him choose for himself. Compared to the dingy one-room apartment he used to live in with his mother or the grey halls of the orphanage, it felt like a palace. With a little smile, Goro started unpacking his books.

It’s been ten years.

A little over ten years ago, he came home to find his mother would no longer smile and ask how school was that day. He spent hours waiting for the social services to get there, watching with empty eyes as the police and paramedics milled about and squeezed through one another in their tiny apartment. Then, he was taken off to an orphanage. No relatives wanted to take him in - they'd thrown his mother out long ago, so why would they now take in her bastard? 

One day, just a few weeks before his tenth birthday, he ran away and, by chance, ended up in Kichijoji.

The welfare workers were looking for him, so he found a convenient staircase to hide in, and when they inevitably found him, Goro hid behind the man who just came out of the door the staircase led to.

He still didn’t know why Muhen decided to help him, back then. Why he offered to treat him (and the welfare workers) to a meal, took him to visit his mother’s grave, offered to let him visit the club from time to time. A year later, on the day Goro turned eleven, Muhen had thrown him a birthday party and watched as Goro unwrapped, his little fingers trembling, the best gift anyone had ever given him.

He still kept the file with the signed adoption papers by his bed, to this day.

Goro remembered he once asked Muhen why he had chosen him. A boy he met by chance, one he knew nothing about. All he got in return was a shrug, a philosophical statement of how sometimes life throws a thing at you and you know what to do and what the right choice is.

Years after he asked, Goro still didn’t _quite_ understand what he meant by that. Not that he was going to complain, of course.

Changing into a more comfortable set of clothes and flopping down on the bed, Goro took his phone out and checked the new messages his friends were flooding him with.

Ann, Shiho and Ryuuji he met in high school - they were a year younger than him, but as he was the Student Council President and they were a team of troublemakers, they met often enough. After Goro had stepped in and intervened after Kamoshida’s abuse of the track team got his attention, Ryuuji had invited him out for ramen along with the rest of the team and Ann and Shiho ended up tagging along - and they had been friends ever since. They ended up all going their separate ways after high school, but they kept in touch. Ryuuji was still in Tokyo, a rising track star, off on a scholarship. He and Goro usually met up a few times a week for workout and some ramen afterwards, and he was the one Goro was probably the closest with.

Ann and Shiho finally - after a lot of Goro rolling his eyes at how goddamn oblivious his friends were - became a thing in their last year of high school and were currently on a study exchange in the US together. As for his other friends - Haru and Makoto were living together, and for all the snark and passive-aggressive comments he and Makoto exchanged ever since their first year of high school, Goro did consider her one of his best friends, too. He’d do a lot for her if Makoto ever needed him, even if he’d rather take a hammer to his precious record collection than tell her that.

The current source of the barrage of messages on his phone, however, wasn’t any of those five friends he made at Shujin. Goro smiled, scrolling through a miles-long Feathermen theory breakdown sent to him by Futaba, his little half-sister and fellow Featherman nerd. 

He had found Futaba only a few years back when - in secret, not wanting Muhen to know he was curious about him - he tried to dig up his biological father’s identity.

What he found was a disgraced politician, serving a sentence for assault and misuse of funds - the scandal came about around the time Goro turned fifteen. Goro decided he preferred his actual, real, loving father to whatever piece of shit left his mother pregnant and was now rotting in jail, and dropped the issue.

But he _did_ find a trail of other fatherless children during his investigation.

He never managed to connect to any of his brothers and sisters except Futaba. There were more, but they and their mothers either never responded to Goro’s letters or outright explained they were not interested in reconnecting. Goro didn’t press the issue. Even with just one little gremlin of a sister he had more than enough on his hands.

Sometimes, after a day spent with Futaba at Akihabara, or a particularly nice outing with his friends, Goro would let his mind wander and wish, with gentle melancholy, his mother would still be alive to see him now. He wondered if she’d be happy for him - if she’d smile, seeing her son had found a family of his own.

Seeing how happy he was.

Time had smoothed what wounds Goro carried from his childhood with her, healed the scars. It made him forget the sadness, the helplessness. He remembered the rare smiles, his mother’s warm laugh when he played hero for her, declared how the beautiful lady mustn't fear anymore, for he will protect her.

The memories were bittersweet, but Goro treasured them anyway.

And now he was officially an adult, a university student, a musician and part-timer at Jazz Jin. He had a family, friends, a future.

With a smile, Goro typed out a few more messages and locked his phone, sitting up and picking up his trumpet. If he knew his father, Muhen was probably going to spend the next few hours in the kitchen, preparing one of his experimental - though somehow usually delicious - meals for both of them, so Goro would have enough time to clean Jazz Jin up a bit and get some trumpet practice in, too.

Tonight was another weekly swing night and Goro was definitely not going to let the rest of the band down with a sub-par performance.

* * *

Jazz Jin opened for the evening and the seats slowly started to fill in. They had a live band on tonight, and as every week, the pit with the scene had been cleared of tables and prepared to be a dance floor instead.

Several couples were already there, dancing along with the lively melody. Goro hadn’t joined the band yet - he stood behind the bar, helping Muhen in welcoming new guests and preparing drinks for them.

Which is what he was busy doing when he noticed a very familiar figure sitting by one of the tables, the sight making his stomach do a funny little flip. Goro swallowed in order to do something about his suddenly too-dry mouth and sidled over to Muhen, never taking his eyes off the man he noticed.

“He’s here again,” he muttered and then had to repeat himself when Muhen looked at him with his eyebrow raised and pointed at the band, who was entering the peak of their performance.

“Who is?” his father asked, and Goro fought the urge to roll his eyes at him.

“The guy! The guy with the messy black hair. He’s been here almost every day for the past month, don’t tell me you don’t recognize him.”

Muhen hummed noncommittally. Goro frowned. Jazz Jin’s customers were usually regulars - it wasn’t often a new face appeared, and even if it did, it wasn’t often someone Goro’s age. And Goro wasn’t studying criminal law for nothing. This new customer, sitting quietly by his table, always by himself, always smiling (very prettily) whenever Goro brought him his drink, always staring towards the bar whenever Goro was working there… There was _definitely_ something suspicious about him.

Goro was _definitely_ not only thinking that because the guy was handsome and seemed really sweet and was very much his type. _That_ was a completely separate issue and anyway totally not true.

“Do you think he’s a cop?” he asked Muhen when, after another ten minutes, he caught the guy looking at the bar _again_. “He keeps staring at us making drinks. He always does that. Think he’s checking if we’re not serving alcohol to minors?”

Muhen stared at him. Goro wanted to say his father had his _my son is really dumb but I still love him_ expression on face, but it was hard to tell with his shades on.

“It’s possible,” Muhen sighed after a moment. He pushed a receipt into Goro’s hands and pointed at the customer’s table. “Why don’t you prepare his drink and get it to him, and ask for his ID this time? I don’t remember him ordering anything alcoholic before, so it’s a good opportunity. At least he’ll see we’re taking this seriously.” 

“Oh- sure,” Goro nodded, not really understanding why the prospect made him blush. He looked at the receipt - the strange customer requested a fruity, zingy drink that was one of Goro’s personal favourites both to make and drink. Good choice.

He allowed his hands to do most of the work on the drink without any real input from his brain - he’s prepared it so many times before, it wasn’t too difficult to do it again. Plopping a freshly-cut passion fruit into the glass, Goro carefully set it on a tray and shuffled from behind the bar, trying to get his breathing to calm down.

Why was he so nervous? He’s asked a lot of people for ID before. It’ll be just like normal.

Plus, he’ll finally learn the name of the (gorgeous) stranger. In order to get him off their backs if he was a cop, of course. Everything for strictly professional reasons.

To his credit, the stranger reacted with an almost believable surprise when Goro asked for his ID. He even (adorably) blushed, rummaging through his pockets and handing it to Goro with slightly shaky hands. Goro smiled his best smile (while totally not blushing as well) and returned the ID, along with the drink he set in front of - apparently - an Amamiya Ren.

“Enjoy, then, Amamiya-kun,” Goro said, tasting the name on his tongue. “I apologize, but we are very careful about this sort of thing.”

“It’s fine!” Amamiya said, flashing Goro a grin on his own. “I get it. I used to work behind a bar, so I know how it is.”

Wow, okay. This was the first time they actually spoke to each other past the usual _here you go_ and _thank you_ , and the first time Goro was speaking to Amamiya up close like that.

He was really, _really_ cute. And his voice was nice, too. Goro felt a lump in his throat and swallowed to get rid of it.

“I see. I hope our drinks measure up, then,” he choked out, trying to smile while he was at it. Goro desperately searched for something else to say, not to let an awkward silence settle in. He found nothing, so he cleared his throat and pulled away - why was he leaning in so close in the first place?

“Wait!” Amamiya said, breathlessly, as if he failed to keep the word from bursting out of his chest. Goro blinked at him and watched him get even redder.

 _Adorable_.

 _Fuck_.

“W-will you- I mean, you usually perform during the swing nights, right?” Amamiya asked, looking up at him with those beautiful, grey eyes of his. Goro nodded, his mouth opening and closing a few times before he found his words.

“Yes, I- I mean, I will. A bit later. I’m helping out for now, but… I will.”

“Great,” Amamiya grinned up at him and Goro felt like _he_ was the one who just had a strong drink. “I really… I mean, your performances are always amazing. I was looking forward to hearing you play tonight.”

Goro wasn’t entirely sure how he managed to get back behind the bar, but the moment he did, he wanted to groan. Muhen was looking at him with a knowing smirk, the kind that made Goro want to throw a pillow at his face.

Or a bottle of vodka, since pillows were currently in short supply.

“Let me guess,” Muhen said, his voice filled with amusement. “He wasn’t a cop.”

“Shut up, old man,” Goro grumbled, ducking under the bar and pretending he was picking something up. Now Amamiya told him he was looking forward to his performance - that he _loved_ hearing him play - Goro felt little tingles of electricity on his fingertips, his whole body filling with excitement.

He was sure as hell going to give that guy a performance of a lifetime tonight. He couldn’t wait.

* * *

The last, shrill note of his solo erupted from Goro’s trumpet and he lowered his instrument, grinning, a storm of applause breaking out around him.

Some time passed; the most energetic of the dancers cleared out from the dance floor and Goro received three more requests to play from the regulars before he finally grabbed his trumpet and joined the band on the stage. Now, several songs later, his blood was pumping fast through his body and electric currents of excitement surged through his veins. This was it - this was what he _loved_ doing. Performing in front of a live audience, knowing he was good, knowing they loved the music he made.

And tonight, that feeling was only heightened by a singular face in the crowd, and by a pair of stormy eyes that never looked away from him, not even for a moment.

Now, his breathing heavy and his face sweaty from the exertion, Goro looked up to see Amamiya was still looking - and clapping for him with genuine enthusiasm, a rather fetching grin on his face.

Goro couldn’t help but smile back and give him a small wave; and then, all in a blur, he felt his trumpet being plucked away from his hand. One of the band members - all men and women he knew since he was a child - pushed at his back, throwing him out onto the dancefloor. Somehow, Amamiya was there already, his eyes wide and a little exclamation falling from his lips when Goro was sent flying right into his chest, only his quick reflexes saving the two of them from toppling over. Goro immediately pulled away, apologizing while throwing a death glare back at the band who, cackling, burst into another lively song.

“Have some fun, Goro-chan!” the bass player laughed at him. Goro was going to murder all of them, only, before that…

Before that, he felt a hand resting gently on his shoulder and saw a shy, hopeful look in Amamiya’s beautiful eyes.

“If your performance’s over…” the man said, slowly moving his hand down Goro’s arm and to his hand. “May I have this dance?”

Well.

What was Goro supposed to do, say no?

Amamiya was a great dancer - and that was good, because Goro was a really good one, too. The first few steps were awkward, each of them trying to get a feel of the other, but by the end of the first song, they were already dancing like they spent the last month working on choreography. Goro found, to his surprise, he was genuinely having a lot of fun. Amamiya read him incredibly well; the lively beat of jazz seemed to surround the two of them, flow right through their bodies and move their limbs without any input from them needed. All of a sudden, Goro realized he didn’t even know what song was playing anymore. His body moved in tandem with his partner, his body relished the warmth of Amamiya’s hold, the softness of his skin. Their eyes locked together and never let go, their sheepish expressions turned into pure, uninhibited grins as they both danced to their hearts’ content.

Goro lost track of time. He forgot he was supposed to help Muhen out after his performance, forgot people were looking at him. Right there and then, he was swept away by jazz and nothing else mattered.

The last song’s end found Goro panting for breath, brought to a stop by Amamiya’s arms wrapped around him in a secure hold. They were close; the tips of their noses almost touched. Goro smiled and Amamiya responded in kind.

“Wow,” Amamiya said, his own voice rather breathless, but no less pleasant for that. “Devil’s music.”

Goro laughed at that.

“One must compliment the devil on his taste,” he replied. Amamiya’s grin deepened.

They parted unwillingly, more out of social obligation to do so than because either of them wanted to let go. Goro led his dance partner over to the bar - the club was rather dark, so, of course, he had to take Amamiya’s hand to do so. Ignoring Muhen’s smirks and knowing looks, Goro ordered two drinks for them and - after Muhen promised he _really_ didn’t need any help right now - launched into a conversation.

By the time it ended, they went through two more drinks and were Goro and Ren to each other. Ren was just as good a conversation partner as he was a dance one. Goro discovered they were both university students; that Ren was studying journalism at the same university as him, though he was a year below. They shared a lot in common like that - Ren was also a fan of Feathermen, he enjoyed talking about philosophy, he loved jazz. They even discovered, after a good few hours of debating, that they had some common friends - Ren was working part-time at Leblanc, a cafe owned and ran by Futaba’s step-father. Apparently, he and Ren’s own father were acquaintances, so when Ren needed a job after moving to Tokyo for university, Sojiro took him on.

“It’s incredible we hadn’t met before,” Goro laughed. “I can remember Futaba telling me Sojiro finally took on a part-timer and she will finally be able to spend more time with him. I had no idea she meant you!”

“I’ve only met her once or twice,” Ren grinned sheepishly. “I’ve had no idea you two could know each other. She’s rather shy, isn’t she?”

“Only until you get her to nerd out at you,” Goro smiled fondly, stretching on his seat. Ren smirked at him, a mirthful glint dancing in his eyes.

“A family trait, I think,” he said. Goro felt a blush rising in his cheeks; one that only deepened when, the next moment, Ren covered his hand with his own.

“I don’t mind, though,” he said. “I think it’s charming.”

“Oh, really?” Goro said, feeling incredibly stupid for not being able to think of anything else to say. His mental capacity seemed to be inhibited by how warm Ren’s hand felt around his own.

How _good_ it felt. Goro swallowed thickly.

“Say…” Ren said, his voice sounding, once again, adorably shy. “Would you… it’s getting late. Can I walk you home?”

Goro blinked. It _was_ getting late. One look around them made Goro realize the band had packed up a long time ago, the music now playing from the record player. Only a few customers were left apart from them and even those were already gathering their things and preparing to leave. He smiled.

“That’s gonna be hard to do, seeing as I live upstairs,” he said. “Can I walk _you_ home, instead?”

Ren’s expression, which just a second ago turned to disappointment, was now once again bright and happy. Goro felt his heart beat faster. His partner nodded mutely and stood up, waiting for Goro to grab his jacket. Behind the bar, Muhen waved Goro off before he could ask whether he’ll need any help closing up.

“Go, have fun,” his father said, laughing. “Be a silly teenager for once, just keep safe, alright? And message me if you decide you’re not coming back home tonight.”

“ _Dad_ ,” Goro groaned, trying to push the older man off as he ruffled his hair with a laugh. “First of all, I’m over _twenty_ , I’m not a teenager anymore!”

“Well, you were hardly ever acting like one, time to make some things up,” Muhen grinned at him. Goro flushed.

“Besides, I’m only _walking him home._ It’s nothing serious.”

“Uh-huh,” Muhen said, not sounding very convinced. Goro decided to ignore him. Outside, Ren was already waiting for him, looking just as gorgeous as he did the whole evening. If anything, now they were out of the dim Jazz Jin and bathed in the soft light of the streetlamps, he looked even more beautiful. Goro offered his hand and Ren took it, looking a bit surprised but delighted all the same. Holding hands in public after just an evening of really knowing each other may have seemed excessive, but Goro decided he could just as well take his father’s advice for once in his life. He was tipsy, spent a whole evening dancing and talking to a beautiful, interesting and sweet guy and he wanted the whole world to know he had a crush.

Tomorrow, he will probably feel embarrassed about it. Tonight, he walked down the empty streets with Ren’s hand in his own, in comfortable silence, taking in the sounds and smells of Tokyo in Spring. It was a long walk to Ren’s lodgings - one that warranted taking a train, really - but Goro wasn’t complaining. If anything, he felt like it was too short when they finally arrived at a quiet apartment complex and stood in front of Ren’s door.

“Um…” Ren started but seemed to be at a loss of how to continue. Goro smiled and let go of his hand, opting to move it to Ren’s cheek instead.

The kiss was sweet and chaste, and it made everything in Goro sing.

“...I had fun tonight,” Goro said once they parted. Ren’s hands rested on his waist and he felt so warm and secure in his hold. He never wanted to leave.

“Mmm… me too,” Ren smiled, bumping their noses affectionately together. “I have something to confess to you, actually.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah… I kind of… you probably noticed I was coming to Jazz Jin pretty often recently… the truth is, I was smitten with you the moment I saw you. I just didn’t have enough courage to actually… start talking to you.”

Ren blushed deeply, his words turning into a ramble somewhere along the way. Goro interrupted him with another little kiss. He could feel Ren swallow before speaking again.

“...you’re not mad?”

“I’m not,” Goro laughed. “Don’t worry, it’s not like you were being creepy about it. Honestly… I didn’t know. Now it seems kind of obvious, but… yeah.”

It was Goro’s turn to blush. Ren smiled at him and let him go, gently squeezing his hand before releasing it.

“So… will you go out with me sometime, Goro?” Ren asked, and Goro felt his smile widen so much it threatened to hurt his face.

“Happily.”

“Great,” Ren said, mirroring his grin. “It’s a date.”


End file.
